


Affirmation

by Tangerine



Category: Carol Berg - Transformation series
Genre: M/M, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2007, recipient:S. R. Lexi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-25
Updated: 2007-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-18 18:42:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/192031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tangerine/pseuds/Tangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the devastating losses at Tanzire, Aleksander and Seyonne continue on together with only three good legs between them and one very irate Derzhi prince.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Affirmation

Everything Aleksander knew about strength, he had learned from Dmitri. How to survive being broken body and soul. How to laugh in the grim face of death. How to fight to your dying breath. They had been harsh lessons, frustrating, and they had been pounded into Aleksander's thick skull with wooden swords, and striking fists, and biting words.

Athos' balls, but Aleksander missed him more than any man, any Derzhi warrior, should.

It was Dmitri who had taught Aleksander the fine art of cursing.

But he was long gone, and Aleksander knew there was no point in dwelling on what could not be changed. No reason to miss what could not be had or saved. Not his father, whose madness was half responsible for this damned mess, nor Sovari, who had been loyal to the end, nor Malver, nor that witch W'Assani with her loud mouth and rotting fox corpses. And no reason to worry, he had been told, about the living, about Lydia and Kiril.

If only he was close enough to anywhere in this cursed empire to do some good.

Solitude had never suited Aleksander well. Even as a boy, he had selfishly insisted on Kiril's presence in all areas of his life, almost like a pet. It was Kiril's good nature that allowed it to continue well into young adulthood. Even now, Aleksander expected to see Kiril at the edge of his vision, conspiratory grin on his face, always loyal, always steady.

Instead, there was only Seyonne, whose passive face betrayed nothing.

Only Seyonne, who had become Aleksander's strength when his own had withered under the weight of illness, and war, and those blasted traitorous Twenty. Aleksander would see them all hanged, stripped of dignity and warrior's pride, their women and children auctioned off to lesser families, breeding beneath their standing, no better than slaves.

And Edik.

Edik would die by Aleksander's own hand, grovelling, pissing himself and begging for mercy, mercy that Aleksander would deny.

It was during this sweet thought, which was often the only one in Aleksander's head, the only thought bearably endured in the midst of this cursedly terrible situation, that Aleksander's leg decided it had been walked upon enough and bowed gracelessly beneath him. Aleksander flailed humiliatingly for a second then dropped like a sack of stones.

Seyonne was on him in a second.

"Don't you have anything better to do?" Aleksander snapped, shoving him away.

Seyonne raised a placid eyebrow. "Beyond keeping you alive, my lord?"

"Eager to die, too, are you?" Aleksander muttered, struggling to stand again. His leg protested, streaks of white-hot pain lancing his skin, and he teetered unsteadily before Seyonne slid up beside him, grabbing his arm and steadying him. "I see that you are."

"Yes, my lord."

"Enough with that," Aleksander demanded, allowing Seyonne to lead him to a nearby tree where Aleksander slumped gratefully against it, the bark rough against his bare back. He was wearing only a loincloth, and had been hoping, before his traitorous leg gave out, to attempt a race. Not with Seyonne, who would surely beat him, but against his own ego.

"Is your leg ...?"

"It's fine," Aleksander snapped. "Weak as a eunuch's cock, that's all."

"Your way with words always impresses me. Have you considered poetry?"

Aleksander glared at him and harrumphed. "I would have to learn how to read."

"I could teach you," Seyonne offered, a forced lightness in his voice, but Aleksander appreciated the effort. Seyonne's bad jokes comforted him in some inexplicable way, and always managed to set Aleksander's world right when everything else was asunder.

"Do you wish to unman me entirely, Ezzarian?"

"Or make you work."

"Things aren't quite that dire yet," Aleksander said dismissively, rubbing his thigh, working out the knots and the throbbing pain. Seyonne sat down beside him, wearing a thin shirt and loose pants, both items Aleksander had stolen for him after it became obvious they no longer had the zenars to afford much of anything, least of all clothes. Seyonne curled into a slouch, arms resting on one knee, the other leg tucked beneath him. The fabric of his shirt was of such poor quality that Aleksander could count every scar.

Aleksander touched them lightly with the pads of his fingers.

Beneath his careful touch, Seyonne stiffened.

"Were that things were different," Aleksander muttered, feeling the ridges of scar tissue that criss-crossed down Seyonne's back. Once each line was counted, Aleksander touched his thumb to the slave mark on Seyonne's shoulder and traced the edges with his nail.

And for one fleeting, awful, horrifying second, Aleksander felt the urge to press his face to Seyonne's back and weep. Not only for the damage done to this man, by him and others like him, but for the helplessness of the situation, and for Sovari's death, and for his aching, useless, ruined leg that made Aleksander helpless as a babe as his empire crumbled into ruins around him and his people starved and cried out for his help.

Instead, Aleksander merely sat back and mumbled miserably, "I'm hungry."

"There's an entire field of grass over there," Seyonne pointed out, unmoving beneath Aleksander's hand, which he still had not dropped. Sometimes, it felt like Seyonne was his only anchor to the world, fleeting though it was. Seyonne would leave him, and soon.

Too soon.

"I have the sudden urge to kill something," Aleksander decided, pushing to his feet and using Seyonne's steady shoulder for leverage. "I'll find us something edible on four legs. Preferably a large beast, so I don't have to listen to your stomach whining all night."

"No worse than your snoring," Seyonne replied and added demurely, "my lord."

Aleksander rolled his eyes, gave Seyonne a light smack with his walking stick then hobbled off toward to their meagre possessions. A couple folded piles of freshly washed clothes, a sachet that held the few princely items Aleksander had managed to save, a pouch with less zenars than Aleksander had fingers, and a stack of animals skins. The horses nickered at his approach, his own bending its slender neck and nuzzling his face.

Athos' balls, but he missed Musa, too. That horse had been the finest in the whole of the Derzhi Empire, an extension of his own body. This new beast, barely better than a packhorse, served its purpose, but he yearned to feel Musa's strong body beneath him.

Aleksander dressed as quickly as his useless leg would allow then picked up his sword, his most valued possession, and anchored it at his narrow waist. He had lost considerable weight. Still not as slender as Seyonne, whose Ezzarian heritage lent well to speed over strength, but diminished in a way that humiliated him more than all other wrongs had.

Aleksander looked over at Seyonne, who had not moved from beneath the tree. Food be damned. He would not be starved into submission no more than he would be cowered or hunted or dishonoured by those who would label him Kinslayer. Aleksander resolved to train twice as hard, to push his body twice as far, to force his leg to carry twice as much.

Though he could barely see from the pain, Aleksander stalked through a nearby wooded area without his cane. Time to time, he paused to stretch or bend, forcing his muscles to comply, sweat dripping into his eyes. His hair, hanging in his face and unbraided because Seyonne had insisted he draw no attention to them, was soaked from the effort.

And the world was laughing at him, because the sparse woods were devoid of even the annoying chatter of birds. Aleksander preferred hunting in the desert, had lived and breathed the arid existence of a sand dweller all his life, and knew all the hidden secrets. But that was yet another fight he had lost to Seyonne, who claimed he thought only of the horses, but Aleksander had seen Ezzaria and the lushness of the green rolling lands.

Aleksander took a moment to catch his breath, his heart pounding in his chest. His leg was a twist of agony, almost to the point of unbearable, almost too much for a man, even a Derzhi, to take. It was ugly and bloated and scarred as badly as Seyonne's body, but the pain was refreshing, awakening, affirming. Only a true warrior could live through it.

And though the forest was stilled blanketed in silence, Aleksander sensed a new presence. Not Seyonne, who Aleksander would never mistake for another, but something wild, something _edible_. With one hand on his sword, ready to draw it from its sheath, Aleksander turned on his good leg, slowly, methodically, like a hunter stalking his prey.

A wildcat stood peering at him, sleek body tense and ready to lunge, teeth bared in hungry anticipation. It was small like a kayeet, but had the colouring of a shengar, a shiny black that caused the yellow of its eyes to stand out like a flame against darkness.

"I see someone else is eager to die today," Aleksander murmured, withdrawing his sword. The meat would be dry and tough, barely enough to feed two grown men for more than a week, but Aleksander's hunger was deeper than he had ever felt. This beast would do.

Instead of unnerving him, the pain in his leg served to focus his attention. There were no trees, no wind, no dirt beneath his feet, just his unrelenting pain and this forest cat, human versus animal. But Aleksander had the advantage. He had lived as a shengar, had killed and feasted as a shengar. Though the enchantment was long gone, the instincts remained.

Aleksander pounced.

His blade struck fast, though the beast refused to die and clawed at his chest through the folds in his shirt. Aleksander pushed his sword in deeper, face pressed against the rapidly beating heart of the animal, and felt the pulse begin to wane. "Go with Athos, brother," Aleksander murmured as the life against him relaxed and, with a sigh, vanished entirely.

Aleksander slung the cat across his shoulders and limped back to the camp. Seyonne was in the water, bathing, modest even in the company of no one. Years later, Aleksander still vividly remembered Seyonne on the slave block, naked and garnering little attention whatsoever, ignored for younger, unmarked slaves. Not the sort of slave Aleksander had generally noticed either, literate or not, but Seyonne had caught his attention nonetheless.

Why, Aleksander would never know, but he had understood, though he had asked all the proper questions and displayed the proper levels of disinterest, that he had to have him.

How different Aleksander's life would be if not for that single surprising decision.

"Seyonne!" Aleksander shouted, lifting up his prize. "I've caught us a fine dinner."

Seyonne eyed him and, no doubt, the bloody mess he had made of his clothing, and finally said, "it looks delicious," with a pained expression that made Aleksander laugh. There were other clothes, and even that damned suffocating haffai if Seyonne insisted.

Aleksander tied the forest cat up in the branches of the nearest tree then stripped down to his bare skin, hobbling down to join Seyonne in the water. Seyonne glanced at him briefly, eyeing first the bloody lines on his chest and then, so quickly Aleksander almost missed it, the impressive cock-stand that jutted proudly against Aleksander's belly.

Without a word, Aleksander slipped into the water, cooling the fire in his veins. It was a common occurrence after a battle, a sign of a warrior's virility and proudly displayed as such, but it was easy to forget that Seyonne, though a warrior in his own right, was not like him. A Derzhi and an Ezzarian, together. A stranger pair had never been matched.

And Seyonne was to leave him, sooner than later, and Aleksander had no idea how to feel about that. Relief, perhaps, for Seyonne was not the man Aleksander had known, not since the demon had taken up residence in his soul, but also sorrow and regret and anger.

Aleksander wasn't sure how much longer he could bind Seyonne to his life.

So many things left undone. So many things left unsaid.

Aleksander floated onto his back, the last of the pressure off his leg. His cock bounced against his stomach, the edge only half off. It had been too long since he had shared a bed with his wife, and he would take no other woman. There was only one exception, only one person Lydia would share with, and that had been a mortifying conversation.

That damn she-wolf of a woman had always seen and understood more than she ought to, and had never learned to hold her tongue. He loved her fiercely, wanted to grow old with her and wanted her to bear his sons, and had given up both those desires for her safety.

She had known, without asking, that Aleksander would never be hers alone.

Seyonne's eyes were on him, peeling away the layers of his skin. They had never shared a bed in that way. Even when Seyonne had been his slave, Aleksander had never forced himself on him. He had always known Seyonne's history. Seyonne's slave papers had been read to him before he ever arrived at the auction, so Aleksander had heard which masters used him for pleasure, yet he had never wanted to use Seyonne in the same way.

He had known if he dared, he would have lost Seyonne long ago.

Aleksander stared back at him, arms moving gently in the water to keep afloat. They had been on the road for months, the summer wasting away as Aleksander begged and grovelled for Derzhi protection, Derzhi support. Houses he would have scorned a year ago were now his only hope. Pride was a tricky thing. Aleksander had little left to lose.

Seyonne had been at his side every hour, calming him when his temper got the better of him, holding him together when it felt like he was unravelling at the seams. They had shared beds, and battles, and food. They had fought together, seen friends die together.

More than ten years separated them in age, Seyonne the older, Aleksander the younger. The Derzhi had almost destroyed the Ezzarians, though Aleksander had sought to fix that. A good number of those ugly scars on Seyonne's marred body were done by Aleksander, if not by his own hand then by his own words or, in some cases, by his lack of them.

If he had learned strength from Dmitri, then he had learned resilience from Seyonne.

Aleksander dropped his body into the water and dunked his head beneath the surface. When he emerged, Seyonne was already swimming back to shore. Though no challenge had been issued, Aleksander dove into the river and, with his belly touching the sandy bottom, glided effortlessly along, brushing Seyonne's legs before emerging again.

Aleksander grinned. "Too slow, Seyonne. And one of us was raised in a desert!"

"One of us wasn't even trying."

"One of us must pay the price for losing," Aleksander said, laughing. He took to the riverbank in an awkward, painful run and reached Seyonne's clothes before Seyonne realised what Aleksander intended. Aleksander ignored Seyonne's protest and used the stolen clothing as a towel, drying his body as he hobbled back to camp, still chuckling.

Seyonne approached slowly, dripping and naked, his bronze skin glistening in the fading sun. There was a slouch to his body that betrayed his Ezzarian modesty, but Aleksander had to appreciate the fact Seyonne had even left the water of his own free will. He reached for his clothing, which Aleksander twisted up and used to dry his cock and balls.

Seyonne sighed. "Are you intent on arriving at our next destination naked?"

"Perhaps we would have better success if we did," Aleksander replied merrily, tossing Seyonne's damp clothing into the tree, satisfied when they settled across the branches. He could feel Seyonne's dark eyes watching him, torn between amusement and annoyance.

Seyonne reached up to help retrieve their dinner from the tree, naked as the day he was born. A cool wind had begun to blow from the east, raising the sparse hairs on Seyonne's arms. "Were you this aggravating as a boy?" Seyonne asked, tugging at the knotted rope.

"Worse," Aleksander confirmed, grinning, and with one last yank, the wildcat dropped to the grass. Seyonne immediately cut into it with a dagger, by now an unwilling expert in skinning animals. It was a skill Aleksander could have gone through life without knowing.

Aleksander started the fire, crouched at the small pit. He was still half-hard, his body determined to hang onto the last hope of pleasure. They were close enough to several towns that Aleksander, if he had not sworn a pledge of fidelity, could have found release.

A small flame flickered into existence, Aleksander leaning back to admire his work, and his leg finally gave out. He fought for his balance, arms out and weight thrown back, but it was only the arm that Seyonne slid around his waist that kept from falling into the fire.

"It'll do no good for anyone to push yourself further than your body allows."

"And coddling this cursed leg will not help it heal faster," Aleksander snapped, allowing Seyonne to lead him to the stack of soft animal skins. He stretched out his leg before him, grateful that it had healed straight. Even if he could never walk again without a cane, at least he did not have a twisted leg on which to lurch everywhere like a beggar.

"You've been in a mood all day."

Aleksander lay back, exhaling sharply, ridding his body of the pain. "So what?"

Seyonne only looked at him.

"I'm in pain," Aleksander said plaintively, watching as Seyonne stripped the meat from the cat's bone and speared it on a series of branches, which he hung over the fire. "My empire is in ruins. I've managed to kill most of the people who give a damn about me. My wife has been publicly humiliated, and I have dishonoured my cousin at every turn."

"The Lady Lydia is safe, and Kiril will understand in time. He knows you."

"He thinks he does," Aleksander muttered. "I'm not even sure I know myself anymore."

"I know you."

"Yes, well," Aleksander said, shifting uncomfortably. The light mood was gone, though he could not blame Seyonne for that. It had been worth a try, to live like a spoiled prince again, though without the silks and the satins and the fine wine, he had not been fooled.

Life had been so easy when all he worried about was which woman to take next to bed.

Aleksander draped his arm over his eyes, lying back to allow the remainder of the sun to caress his naked body. Seyonne moved around him, light on his feet, though Aleksander could have thrown a dagger at him and hit him square between the eyes. Turning his head, Aleksander shifted his arm and stared at him until Seyonne demanded, "what is it?"

"You need a woman," Aleksander said, unable to poke at the raw wound that festered in Seyonne's soul. It was not the first time he had brought it up nor would it be the last, but in the absence of what he really meant, teasing Seyonne's shy Ezzarian ways would do.

Seyonne's shoulders slumped predictably. "Do you ever tire of this subject?"

"Never," Aleksander assured him. "A Derzhi warrior is measured by the number of men he has blooded, the number of women he has bedded, and the size of his cock."

"Yet another reason to be glad I am not Derzhi."

"Yes," Aleksander agreed. "The number of women you have bedded is dismal."

Seyonne laughed at that, though ruefully, and Aleksander relaxed again, staring up at the sky and the setting sun. His hair, long from the days spent roaming, brushed his bare shoulders, sending shivers down his spine. The smell of cooking meat made his stomach rumble, and he laid his hand flat against his belly, rubbing lightly over his skin, tracing the faint outline of faded muscles and the trail of red hair that led to his half-hard cock.

"Aleksander," Seyonne said, irritated, and dumped a plate of hot meat onto his chest.

"Ezzarians can't possibly be that saintly."

"You know quite well we aren't," Seyonne snapped, sending tendrils of pleasure down Aleksander's spine. Few men in this world could annoy Seyonne to the point of anger; Aleksander was proud to be one of them. He grinned at Seyonne, who scowled back.

"I'll stop," Aleksander promised, holding a hand against his breast. "You have my word."

"Am I allowed to wear clothes again, my lord?"

"No," Aleksander replied, sitting up. The meat smelled delicious, and he grabbed the first blistering piece with his fingers, shoving it into mouth. He kept his bad leg stretched in front of him, and curled the other underneath. His back cracked as he stretched his body.

Seyonne sat down beside him, close enough that Aleksander could feel the heat radiating from his skin. They sat shoulder to shoulder, watching the sunset in the west, gorging their bellies on roasted meat. In these moments, Aleksander almost believed in peace.

"You're a good man, Seyonne," Aleksander said, not looking at him. "A good friend."

Aleksander glanced over as Seyonne bowed his head, his long hair tucked behind his ear, revealing the scar on his cheekbone. He tried to picture Seyonne as he had been before his sixteen years in slavery, as a slender eighteen-year-old man in the bloom of youth. Tried to imagine him grinning, making love to his beloved Ysanne, without the lines around his eyes or the scars on his body, but Aleksander could not even see a hint of it.

Seyonne, obviously uncomfortable with Aleksander's scrutiny, shifted, but Aleksander caught him before he could pull away completely. He threaded his fingers through Seyonne's dark hair, his thumb coming to rest on that blasted scar of a falcon that had caused so many problems and ingratiated Seyonne so deeply into Aleksander's life.

Aleksander leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Seyonne's marred cheek. Seyonne's breath ghosted hot and quick over his furrowed brow, and Aleksander lifted his face, pressing his dry lips against Seyonne's mouth, catching the corner. When Seyonne moved back, Aleksander gripped him even more firmly by the hair and held him still.

Aleksander kept his mouth against Seyonne's, slightly parted so their breath mingled but otherwise unmoving, waiting. He would not beg. He would not plead. He would not even bargain. Seyonne had complete power over Aleksander as Aleksander had complete power over him. There were many men he would die for but very few he would live for.

Seyonne's whole body shifted and his hand with it, coming to rest on Aleksander's leg, folding over the deep scar from where the bone had broken through the skin. The pain served not to cripple Aleksander but arouse him and remind him of Seyonne's devotion.

"The Lady Lydia ..."

"There's an exception," Aleksander explained, in a low voice. "It's you, Seyonne."

If Seyonne was surprised, he betrayed nothing, but the last of the resistance left him. Aleksander knew what Seyonne was offering, the vow he was breaking. Though Ysanne had tried to kill him, had gutted and left him bleeding, Aleksander knew that Seyonne's feelings for her were deeper than he, with his war-addled Derzhi brain, could imagine.

Athos' tears could not wash away that pain, but Aleksander would try.

Beyond a few boyish explorations of pleasure, Aleksander had never paid much attention to other men. Kiril had a steady stream of male lovers, interspersed with a woman or two who caught his fancy, so Aleksander had no issues with the idea and did not suspect for a moment that his virility would suffer to take a man to bed, but he had preferred women.

There were, as Lydia had smugly pointed out with Aleksander's face pressed between her long legs and arguing his point in the only way he knew to, exceptions to every rule.

They kissed as day bled into night, their legs becoming more and more entangled. Aleksander ran his fingers over Seyonne's marked back, counting every deep scar and finding a few more, hidden under the obvious ones. When his touch lingered too long, Seyonne squeezed his leg and the shocks of pain were enough to make Aleksander pause.

It was Aleksander who touched Seyonne first, though Seyonne's cock had been burning a hole in Aleksander's thigh. Aleksander, who pushed Seyonne back and licked his way down Seyonne's belly, pausing only briefly at the scar on his side. Aleksander, who took Seyonne in his mouth and waged his own private war against Seyonne's stoic nature.

When Seyonne came, it was Aleksander who took the hot release into his own body.

Seyonne explored Aleksander in a similar way, his hesitation endearing. To know, with certainty, that Seyonne had come willingly to so few, and to hear Seyonne murmur, " _only you_ ," caused Aleksander to come without warning, wetting Seyonne's careful fingers.

"Say nothing," Aleksander warned darkly. "It's been too long. My stamina has suffered."

Seyonne bowed his head in an infuriating way, enough that Aleksander took him by the shoulders and pushed him down into the cool night grass. His cock was still half hard, and he slid against Seyonne's slippery body, letting him know of the fact. Seyonne looked up and half-smiled in that crooked way he had, quickening Aleksander's blood.

With the brunt of his weight resting on Seyonne's thighs, Aleksander leaned over him, catching Seyonne's wrists with his hands and holding them above his head. Seyonne arched hard against him, the head of his cock pressing hotly behind Aleksander's balls.

Aleksander tightened his grip and ground down hard against Seyonne's straining cock.

Sweat poured between them like a heavy rain after a long drought, though Aleksander knew not what to blame, either the almost unbearable pleasure or the steady throbbing in his leg. The mixture of pleasure and pain roused him to the point of insanity, destroying his composure and the cool bed skills he had developed over the years. Something about Seyonne had always forced him out of character, changing the very fibre of his being.

When Seyonne flipped him, tossing him hard against the ground, Aleksander groaned. Seyonne took Aleksander's injured leg and held it straight, relieving him in that way, but his cock still stood hard against his belly, pinned between him and Seyonne's damp skin. His grip on Seyonne's wrists now irrevocably broken, he was free to slide his hands where he pleased, using the blunt edges of his fingernails to draw pleased murmurs.

They rutted like animals, pressed so firmly together that Aleksander was not sure where he ended and Seyonne began. He harkened back to the dark time he had spent enchanted by the Khelid, and how it had felt to destroy Tasgeddyr, the Lord of Demons, bound to Seyonne in so intimate a way that it had unsettled him more than losing his own soul did.

If Aleksander was to survive this coming storm, it would be by the tricks Seyonne had taught him.

"Ah, Seyonne," he said, pressing his face to Seyonne's shoulder, holding him there. The Derzhi were not a sentimental people prone to deep displays of emotion, but there was a quiver in his voice that betrayed him entirely. Seyonne, if he noticed it, acknowledged nothing, and Aleksander forced his breathing to slow and his hands to unclench.

And then he came, and nearly lost his mind in the process.

When he could focus again, night had settled entirely around them like a fortress, and Seyonne was beside him on the soft animal skins, watching him with those dark eyes. Sometimes, Aleksander was sure he saw something strange behind them, some flash of light he could not identify, but he was no Ezzarian sorcerer, and for the most part, when he looked at Seyonne, he could see only his friend and the man who had saved his life.

When he looked at Seyonne, he saw everything he hoped to be.

It was enough to change a man, for better or worse, into someone greater than he had been, as Aleksander had already been changed and would continue to change until he hit those great heights Seyonne had always promised him, until his people had been saved.

But Aleksander was tired, worn out more from forcing his leg to act like a real limb all day than anything that had followed. He grabbed Seyonne around the waist before Seyonne could move, hauling him closer. Whatever came tomorrow, he would accept, but tonight, tonight they would sleep without worry, only one blade held between them.

  



End file.
